


The Colours of Love

by shinyhill



Series: The Colours of Love [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4768439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyhill/pseuds/shinyhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not really sure where this story is going to go yet. I wanted to try my hand at sticking to a theme of colours. The main story will be Anders/Fenris, but relationships, ratings and tags may change over time - I'll keep you updated! Love getting kudos, comments or critiques, please feel free to correct any errors and let me know what you think!<br/>I'm shinyhill on tumblr too, and my blog is almost all Dragon Age if you want to take a look.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black and Grey

The first time that they met it was in less than ideal circumstances.

Fenris walked down a flight of stairs, covered in the blood of his enemies, and all Anders could do was stare. He let Hawke deal with the conversation, mesmerised by this strange white-haired green eyed elf. The sword he carried looked to long and heavy for that small frame, but what really caught his attention was the delicate graceful lines running down his neck, his arms, even onto his feet.

LYRIUM, Justice supplied, and Anders blinked. It couldn’t be…but Justice would recognise it from the song, the connection to the Fade that it carried made him more sensitive to lyrium’s call than any mage. Concentrating, Anders realised that he could feel it’s slight pull. A scowl from the elf let him know that he had been staring. Worse, he had been staring with his mouth wide open. Idiot! The elf left soon enough, and Anders had no idea what Hawke and he had even conversed about, so caught up had he been in the elf’s looks.

Fenris, meanwhile, had not missed the mage standing behind Hawke, staring stupidly, mouth hanging open. He had felt the presence of mages as he came down the stairs, even if the staffs hadn’t given it away. There was a girl, young, dark-haired. Her magic prickled at him much as Danarius’ had. And the blonde mage, dressed Tevinter style. It might have led him to attack immediately if he hadn’t been distracted by Hawke. It was only after he left the group that he realised that the blonde mage’s magic hadn’t affect him much at all. Thinking carefully, he might have felt a little pull of something…but whatever it was hadn’t felt painful. He had made arrangements with Hawke to meet at Danarius’ mansion, and went there to await them, impatient to attack while he had the chance.

\------

Their second meeting didn’t go much better than the first. Fenris had been lounging against the wall near the mansion, keeping an eye out for trouble. He was pleased at the swiftness with which Hawke had kept his word. He had only arrived there himself less than an hour before. Once again, the man had the two mages with him, and a dwarf. Fenris had lately felt more comfortable around dwarves than with other races. They couldn’t be mages, which made them alright with him. They were safe in a way that humans and elves could never be. Of course, his brands gave him a head-start on finding and dealing with mages when necessary, but it was nice to be able to ignore that type of danger when dwarves were present. Dismissing the dwarf, he drew his sword and the group entered the mansion together.

Of course, Danarius had already left. Of course he had. It had been three years since Fenris had seen the man, had waited to free himself. His emancipation couldn’t come that easily. The mansion had been trapped, and demons and shades attacked them as they searched for Danarius. Fenris was aware that he wasn’t taking the best tactical approach by shouting for Danarius, but he couldn’t stop himself. His rage fuelled by years of pain and fear couldn’t be held back in that moment. It kept his attacks strong, and he cut his way through the enemies who had been left to deal with them. Spattered in blood afterwards, he had to leave the mansion to get air while the others looted the place. Fenris had no intention of touching anything else in the building, and stood outside, letting his rage cool while the blood congealed on his clothes, on his skin, matting the tips of his hair. He didn’t care what he looked like, only that he had failed once again to free himself of Danarius shadow, hanging over him like a spectre from the past.

When Hawke and the others finally exited the building he was calm again. He berated Hawke on his dealings with the mages, feeling uncomfortable even as he did so. These were obviously the man’s friends. He felt worse when he realised that the girl was Hawke’s sister. In return for Hawke’s help though, and he did owe him, Fenris agreed to be available for the man. He would keep an eye on the mages, and readily told Hawke so. He would attack no one who didn’t deserve it, but the moment the mages fell prey to the quest for power, he would end them.

Anders couldn’t help the curl of his lip when Fenris began his anti-mage rant. So, another who believed that all mages should be locked away. Shame, he was a good-looking elf, and Anders had hoped to have a chance to talk about that lyrium with him. But the elf was too much like his father, bigoted and afraid. He would need to be careful, he realised, that this new companion of Hawke’s didn’t end up turning him in to the Templars. He resolved to speak to Varric about getting a little extra protection for the clinic. He had quickly learned that the dwarf had many connections, and was protective of his friends’ well-being. It would pay to have a word with Varric in private, Anders decided, and the party separated, each to their own homes.

\------

They didn’t meet again for some time after that. Hawke, having used his intelligence for once, rather than his sense of humour, had realised that it was uncomfortable for Fenris to be around the mages. Not to mention that his constant vigilance made Anders and Bethany uneasy. It was better to divide his teams up into warriors and rogues, or mages and rogues. Aveline was happy in either team, as was Varric, but Hawke tried to keep Anders and Fenris separate. The result of which was that they didn’t meet again until Hawke decided that it was time to return Flemeth’s amulet to the Dalish camp on Sundermount.

\-------

Fenris had initially been grumpy when Hawke called on him with the grey-feather-coated mage in tow. It hadn’t skipped his attention that the man had deliberately kept the pair separated. What calmed his mood was the fact that he had promised to keep an eye on the mages in the party – a promise he intended to fulfil to the letter – and which he couldn’t accomplish without seeing them, knowing where they lived, knowing what type of people they were. Bethany worried him less than Anders did. She was Hawke’s little sister, lived with Hawke, and Fenris’ slowly growing trust in Hawke meant that he feared the girl less than the other apostate. He still wasn’t sure where Anders lived, what he did with his free time. Today might be a good time to find out.

The feathers on the mage’s coat fluttered in the breeze as they made their way up Sundermount. Fenris found himself watching them without really meaning to. The mage had his hair tied up, allowing the feathers to flutter along his back and shoulders unhindered. It gave him an almost bird-like appearance, as though he could take off at any moment. His body, too, seemed like it was unsubstantial under his clothes. That robe wasn’t close fitting like his armor, and the boots were thick and clunky, and yet he still seemed thin. He must, Fenris decided, be very slender when naked. He shook his head at his own thoughts. There was no way that he wanted to imaging naked mages. The thought made bile rise in his throat. A naked mage had only ever meant rape for Fenris, although it had been a very rare occasion when Danarius had bothered to remove all of his clothes before forcing himself on his slave.

Fenris growled under his breath. He would not think on those matters. His freedom now, under this blue sky, that was what mattered. These…companions he had found were helping him to live free, and how strange, that a person like himself had found companions who would simply accept him without question. It was…uncommon. He was certain that it would never have happened in Tevinter. He would have been enslaved, or killed for the lyrium branded into his skin were he to have met others there, mages for certain would not have simply taken him into their circle of friends.

He spared another glance to the mage. His hair had crept loose from its tie in the breeze, and the mage reached his hands up behind his head to gather the escaped strands. One quick and fluid movement had them under control and tied up again, and for a moment Fenris found himself wishing that the mage had left them flying free. Something about those golden strands fluttering over the feathers in the breeze had given him a funny feeling. They had looked free. They had looked…happy. He snorted at himself again. As if hair could be happy, what a stupid thought. And yet, the mage was laughing at something Hawke had said, and his face was so open. He felt at that moment that here was a man who appreciated being able to be outside on a day like today, sunny and warm and breezy – as though the weather itself were showing what freedom could feel like. The mage looked like he appreciated it as much as Fenris did. He resolved to stop thinking about the mage, but some little voice inside resolved to find out more about the man instead. It would help him to keep an eye on him, right? Whatever…Fenris shook his head at his unruly thoughts again, and kept walking.

\-----

Varric had been walking at the rear of the party, ambling along on his shorter legs, watching the interactions between the others. Hawke and Anders were talking and laughing together, while the elf walked a little distance behind them. He watched as Fenris’ attention seemed to drift, he was watching the mage apparently, his head turned ever so slightly in that direction, and Varric chuckled to himself as he followed along. He had been on a few missions with the elf now, and he was a grumpy, broody bastard, but then, after finding out more about his life, Varric had decided that it was to be expected. The elf didn’t have much of a history to draw on that wasn’t related to pain and loss, and happiness must have been in very short supply for him over the past few years.

Somewhat like Anders, really. The man’s personality was very different to the elf’s though. He seemed determined to be happy, at times almost manically determined. He revelled in his freedom in a way that the elf didn’t. Couldn’t, perhaps, Varric thought, seeing as his master was still alive and hunting for him. His fingers twitched, itching for a pen and parchment to take notes on. It might make an interesting story, two characters with similar backgrounds, but opposing personalities, getting to know one another….

He looked up again as Anders was tying his hair. Varric, being a story-teller, had always been an observant watcher of people, and it didn’t slip his eye that Fenris’ fingertips were twitching as he watched, almost as though he wanted to tie the hair back himself. Or perhaps prevent it from being tied back…hmmm. Perhaps there was a story here after all. He ducked his head and lengthened his stride. It wouldn’t do to be left behind, and he had some people-watching to do.

\-----

It had to be a blood mage…making their fourth meeting even less auspicious than the first three. Although…maybe here was something that they could agree. Fenris was flabbergasted that Hawke had agreed with Keeper Marethari to take the foolish girl with him. He had begun to tentatively trust the rogue, and Bethany and Anders didn’t seem too dangerous, but this! This was sheer foolishness, utter stupidity. He watched as Hawke flirted with Merrill, and it did nothing to change his mind. He hadn’t missed the tension in Anders either. At the first sign of blood-magic, the mages hands had tightened on his staff, a quivering tension in his shoulders. If Fenris hadn’t already promised to watch the mage, he might have missed the way Anders’ lip curled in disgust when she cut open her palm, the way that he had suddenly gotten a lot quieter as Hawke forewent his normal position at Anders side to talk to the new elf instead. Fenris frowned… he hadn’t been sure about Anders up until now, but if the man was against blood mages, maybe he wasn’t all bad. Varric took the whole thing in his stride, making mental notes as he went along.

Between them there were only three tents, Merrill had brought her own. Varric and Hawke had a habit of sharing a tent when they were on missions together, leaving the last for Fenris and Anders. Anders excused himself from the campfire first, looking slightly harried as he ducked into the tent. It wasn’t until later that Fenris stooped to enter the tent, his breath catching at the way Anders unbound hair caught the last dying light of the fire. He stripped off his armour and lay it beside Anders at the end of the bed, black against grey, and went to sleep.


	2. Blue and... Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blue and blue this time...one guess what this chapter is about...Hint: things that glow in the night.

The night was quiet, and Fenris was sleeping. He was awoken by light. Blinking, he looked around, trying to figure out what was going on. His hand was already reaching for his sword when he realised that it was the mage. The mage was glowing. A blue light splintered his skin, and as Fenris watched, horrified, the man sat and opened his eyes. But they weren’t the golden eyes that Fenris had begun to enjoy seeing, these eyes were blue, glowing, inhuman.

Fenris kept reaching for his sword, his horror plain on his face. What was this? Had a demon possessed the mage in his sleep? He didn’t want to kill one of Hawke’s companions, but he had promised from the beginning to watch the mages and do what was necessary if any of them stepped out of line. As his hand was about to close around the hilt of his sword, the mage’s hands suddenly shot out, gripping him around the shoulders. The strength behind those hands was inhuman, and Fenris winced as he felt his collarbones grinding under the pressure.

“What are you?” he meant to shout, but it came out as more of a strangled whisper. “Unhand me, demon,” this time he found his voice, and unholy blue eyes focused on him, rage blossoming on the mage’s face.

“I am no demon! What are you, elf? Why do you sing of the Fade?” the voice didn’t belong to the mage. It was deep, resonant, booming loud in the quiet night. Fenris was held tightly in place, at the mercy of whatever demon the mage had been possessed by, and fear gripped him. Without thought, he had phased, through the hands holding onto him, and right out of the tent in his need to get free, get away from that…that creature. His brands were still lit when Hawke poked his head out of the tent he was sharing with Varric. Hawke glanced at the other tent, the blue glow still visible from outside, lighting up the walls of the tent from inside with a flickering, unreal luminescence.

“Ah…I see you’ve met Justice,” Hawke said, rubbing a hand across his face and up into his unruly hair. “I was meaning to tell you about that.”

“What is that? The mage… he must have been possessed by a demon. Hawke. He needs to be taken down!” Hawke was reaching for Fenris’ arm, before he pulled back with a jerk, remembering not to touch at the last minute.

“No. No, no. Fenris! It’s not a demon! It’s…well, it’s a spirit of Justice. I don’t really know all of the details but…it’s not a demon,” he finished lamely. Fenris was still panting, lyrium brands lit and ready for battle. He shook his head at Hawke, face wild.

“Fenris, please. Listen to me. When we met Anders he asked us for helping getting a friend out of the Gallows. We met him at the Chantry. Things went to shit, unfortunately, and Templars attacked us. Justice made an appearance then. He won’t attack us. He’s a _good_ spirit.”

Fenris scowled in reply, stepping back from Hawke, eyes still fixed on the tent. When the unearthly blue glow of the tent suddenly faded, Fenris finally let his brands dim. “Why are you only telling me of this now, Hawke? The mage is an abomination. He should not be suffered to live!”

“Yeah, see. That’s why I didn’t tell you before…” Hawke trailed off as Ander’s head poked out of the tent, his face a picture of horrified remorse.

“Maker, Fenris, are you OK? I didn’t…he normally doesn’t do that! I was having a nightmare and…” Anders didn’t get to finish his sentence, because Fenris hand was buried in his chest. He looked down, gaping, at the sight of Fenris’ wrist coming out of his chest, at the feeling of those slender fingers wrapping around his heart, and promptly fainted. His body slid off Fenris’ arm as he fell to the dirt. Fenris snarled and turned away.

“I need some air,” he growled at Hawke, then stalked away. First the blood mage, and now this. Fenris was beginning to regret his promise to aid Hawke. Hawke watched him walk away, back ramrod straight, fists clenching, a vision of elf fury. He sighed, ran his hand through his hair again, and picked up Anders’ body to put him back to bed. Quite possibly they should start bringing another tent when they went on missions. He doubted that Anders and Fenris would be happy sharing again after this.


	3. Guess and Guess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guesses about colours, Isabela might never know the truth.

The next few months were a personal nightmare for Hawke. He had come to rely on having warriors and mages in his team, and Anders was a healer, making him Hawke’s first choice for most missions. Aveline was busy, chasing up some problems with corruption in the guard, which was disturbing, but not as disturbing as heading out without a warrior in the group.

They had met a woman, Isabela, in the Hanged Man. She was an amazing rogue, matching if not surpassing Hawke in skill. She seemed to have a few issues were legality were concerned, but really, that had never mattered too much unless Aveline were around. Hawke’s diplomatic skills were pushed to the limit. The pirate and the guard captain hated each other, Fenris and Anders hated each other, both of them had issues with Merrill. Which really was so unfair. Merrill was just so…sweet. Naïve yes. And the whole blood magic thing was disturbing sure, but Hawke’s crush on the little Dalish elf meant that he would have overlooked almost anything for her.

If it weren’t for Varric’s steadying influence, Hawke was sure that the small group of companions would have fallen apart. Somehow the dwarf managed to get along with everyone, and better yet, to help them to get along with each other. He had a calming way of talking, an easy way of getting laughs that meant they had at least been able to manage a few card nights at the Hanged Man together. Things were still tense between Fenris and Anders, but Aveline and Isabel seemed to be managing to ignore each other at least. Fenris and Anders well, not so much. They would rather shout and snip at each other it seemed.

Tonight Hawke was looking at his hand of cards when Fenris walked in. He sat stiffly next to Hawke and Merrill, at the opposite end off the table to where Anders was sitting next to Varric. Aveline and Isabel were on opposite sides of the table, creating a kind of buffer zone. Hawke frowned. Could his friends not just all get along for once! Bethany was at home with Leandra and Gamlen, and just as well, because it looked like tonight was going to unwind into another fight about abominations and mage rights, versus slaves and Tevinter magisters. Hawke sighed, this was a fight neither of them could ever win, and the quicker they both realised it the better.

“You know nothing of what it means to be a slave!” That was Fenris, snarling and spitting from his end of the table.

“Templars are nothing better that prison guards. They imprison us because of an accident of birth!” There went Anders. Really, this could go on all night, and Hawke was not in the mood. He raised a pair of imploring eyebrows at Varric, and took a long drink of his ale. Let someone else handle the pair, he had had enough.

“Boys, boys, let’s not fight. You’re both pretty,” Isabela surprisingly spoke up before Varric could. “Let’s make a bet. First to guess the colours of both of their smalls wins a sovereign,” she laughed coquettishly, resting her ample breasts on the table.

“Ooh, that sounds like fun!” Merrill piped up. She was either oblivious to the anxious tension coming from Anders and the simmering rage coming from Fenris, or she really was a Maker-sent saint here to change the subject. Hawke scratched his head, it was difficult to decide. Whatever…he would go along with this if it meant the pair would stop yelling.

“White!” he pronounced, pointing at Anders. “Black!” this time pointing at Fenris. He took a page from Merrill’s book and simply ignored the looks they both sent his way.

“Wrong,” Anders surprised Hawke by speaking up. “Guess again.” Well, there was a smile on the mage’s face now. That was good. Hawke raised an eyebrow at Fenris inquisitively.

“I am not going to discuss the colour of my smalls,” Fenris stated in his deep voice. And that was the end of that bet. But apparently not where Isabela was concerned.

“Sweet thing, I didn’t put a time limit on this bet you know,” she rose from her chair, hips swaying as she walked around the table to where Fenris sat, eyes determinedly fixed on the hand of cards in front of him. With an effort that Hawke could appreciate, she somehow managed to wriggle under Fenris’ arm and seat herself on his lap. “I’m not going to give up yet.” Fenris didn’t even move his eyes from his cards as he pushed her onto the floor.

“Do not touch me, pirate,” he scowled even more furiously as she laughed, dusting herself off and pouting all the way back to her own seat.

\--------

Fenris rolled his shoulders, hating that the woman had sat on him when she knew he hated being touched. He felt uncomfortable knowing what was on her mind. Which was a shame, because, like the dwarf, she was one of the few that he trusted in this group. She wasn’t a mage, she seemed to get along well with everyone, and she had an air of freedom about her that he wished he possessed. She reminded him of some of the Fog Warriors with whom he had spent time on Seheron. There was no inhibition to her, Isabela was who she was, and damn anyone who didn’t like it. He wondered if he truly felt like a free man whether he could act like that.

Because the truth was, no matter how loudly he denied that he was a slave, he certainly didn’t feel free in the way that these others did. _He_ still had a master hunting for him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The only one of their group who was in a similar situation was the abomination. He was terrified of the Templars, and it showed. He scowled at his cards, not wanting to feel that he had anything in common with that…thing.

He looked up, reaching for his wine glass, and was surprised to see the mage looking back at him. His eyes were honey brown, his hair tumbled in a loose knot at the back had fallen scrappily over his forehead and framed his eyes, his face in soft gold where the candlelight hit it. Fenris glared at him until he looked away, eyes sliding down and sideways in a way that made Fenris uncomfortable all over again. That was a slave’s response. He knew the feeling exactly, how it felt to slide your gaze down and away from a threat, how it was to avoid your master’s eye, to school your face to neutral as though that would help you to bear whatever was coming.

With a growl to himself, Fenris threw his cards down. “I shall return home,” he announced to the table in general, and left before anyone could try to convince him otherwise.

\-----------

Anders watched as the elf walked away. Damn him! Anders had been unable to forget the feeling of having Fenris’ hand buried in his chest, the flutter of his heart against a strange pressure caused by those incorporeal fingers. He had passed out almost immediately, but not before looking down and seeing that lyrium-lined arm coming out of his ribcage. It had been surreal.

The worst thing was that since that night Justice had been obsessed with the elf. The lyrium had called to him like nothing else could. Anders had been fighting an internal argument all night, unable to relax, unable to just have a drink and have a good time like the rest of them. He was so tired of fighting with the voice in his head! Justice wanted to touch the elf, to examine him, to have him light up the lyrium so that he could feel the pull, the song of the Fade. Anders knew exactly how badly that would go down. The elf would not take kindly to being examined by a mage, or a spirit, particularly not when the two of them added up to an _abomination_. He frowned into his cider, the mug was almost empty. He’d had enough. he was going to go back to his clinic and try to get some rest before Justice pushed him into getting back to work.


	4. Tan and Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day on the coast.

Hawke had dragged them out again, chasing slavers. Surprisingly this pleased the entire group – Fenris, Anders, Isabela and Hawke. Hawke because he could loot the bodies and save up for his Deep Roads excursion, Isabela because she had been forced into an unwanted marriage, Anders because as far as he was concerned slavers were the Templars of non-mages, and Fenris because… SLAVERS! The party were all in high spirits as they made their way along the winding paths of the Wounded Coast.

“Sweet thing! Are they green? Red?” Isabela whooped as Fenris’ ears blushed and he pushed her half-heartedly away with one gauntleted fist. “Well, did I get it right? There’s a sovereign riding on this!” Fenris rolled his shoulders and shook his head at her. She was incorrigible, but he wasn’t going to let her spoil his good mood. She moved on to Anders without even blinking an eye.

“So, red or green for you Sparkle Fingers?” She leaned in close to Anders, resting a cheek on his shoulder for a moment, while she pretended to lift his robes to check. Anders squawked at her, and skipped ahead. Fenris laughed, then changed it into a cough when the entire party turned to look at him in amazement.

“What are you staring at?” he growled.

“Don’t get your smalls in a knot, Broody. We just didn’t know that you knew how to laugh,” Isabela teased form a distance, skipping backwards in front of the surly elf. Hawke laughed at her and grabbed her elbow, pulling her ahead for a chat. Fenris shrugged, only to look up and find that Anders was still staring at him.

“Is there a problem, Mage? Perhaps you’d like to draw a picture of me while you’re at it.” Anders blinked once, twice, and then looked down at his feet before he began walking. Damn the elf, he had no right to be so good looking, have such a sexy voice, and such a demented attitude to magic. What a nightmare! Anders hadn’t meant to stare, but honestly, he really had never heard Fenris laugh before, had never even heard so much as a chuckle pass those lips. It had been a surprise, but not an unpleasant one.

Fenris walked along behind the others, kicking his feet idly into the sand. It was warm, but not hot, against the soles of his feet, and he enjoyed the feeling of the grains piling up on his toes and then sliding down between them. He smiled to himself, enjoying the simple pleasure of being able to choose where to walk and how fast.

The slavers were taken out before midday, and the group settled in the shade of a rocky overhang to eat a simple meal of bread, cheese and olives, washed down with a bottle of wine that Fenris pulled out of his pack, surprising the others once again. Anders didn’t partake of the wine, satisfying his thirst with water from his waterskin instead. He watched as the others finished eating, and relaxed back onto the cool sand. The air was hotter now that the sun was directly overhead, and they were all feeling lethargic.

Isabela sat up first, shaking her hair free from its bandana, and casually stripping off her clothes. The three men gaped at one another, but she just laughed at them, wiggling unselfconsciously before racing off into the water. Hawke was first to follow, chasing after her yelling like a child before diving under the waves. Anders and Fenris were left alone, both unsure if being defenceless in front of the other was a good idea. Fenris scowled at the abomination. He was not scared of the mage, and he was never defenceless. Turning away, he stripped off his armour and leathers, stalking down over the hot sand to join the others in the water.

Anders sighed once the elf left. He wriggled around, uncomfortably aware that the sight of all of that lyrium covered skin had affected him more than he wished. There was no doubt that the elf was attractive, but he knew that they could never be friends – Justice was to blame for that. And Justice was to blame for the desperate urge he had to run his fingers down all of that tan skin, trace the lines of lyrium, put his mouth on Fenris’ skin to see how he tasted…yes that was Justice, as obsessed with the lyrium as ever. Anders wondered if he should just drink a lyrium potion before he went on missions with Hawke, maybe that would settle the spirit down before he could get overexcited whenever he saw Fenris.

One thing he did know, he was not prepared to get naked in front of the murderous elf, and although he didn’t need a staff to use his magic, the memory of that fist inside his chest made him nervous enough that he didn’t want to be without whatever weapons he had. He rolled up the bottoms of his pants, took off his coat, and lay on the cool sand in his singlet top. The distant shouts of his companions, the sound of the waves, and the warm air lulled him to sleep.

\-------

Fenris was first to return, the sun had moved, leaving Anders lying asleep, half in and half out of the sun. His face was propped on his forearms, and the skin of his shoulders was a soft cream, scattered with a constellation of tiny freckles. Fenris found himself catching his breath as he looked. The mages hair had slipped free of its tie again, and blonde strands lay against his neck and brushed the tops of his shoulders. Lower down, the sun was shining directly on Anders’ legs, and Fenris snorted quietly to himself as he realised that they were reddened and sunburnt, the mage would need to heal himself when he woke.

He gathered up his leathers, keen to clothe himself before Hawke and Isabela returned. He disliked being unarmoured, enjoying the feel of the leather against his skin. It covered some of the lyrium lines he detested, and made him feel more comfortable in his skin. He dressed quickly, eyes still trained on the sleeping mage before him. It would be easy to tear out his heart right now, the idiot mage had fallen asleep alone on the Wounded Coast. He obviously had no concept of personal safety. He cast his eyes over the mages body, surprised to see that although his shoulders and legs were defined, no doubt the result of walking, running and fighting on missions with Hawke, his torso was terribly thin, ribs visible even through the ratty singlet he wore. Fenris frowned. He hadn’t realised the mage didn’t have enough money to feed himself properly. Surely Hawke had been paying him the same amount Fenris was paid, and he never had any problems with providing for himself. He made a note to discuss it with Hawke later, the team needed a healer, and it would be a waste of the mage’s talent if he became sick.

The mage in question awoke when Isabela and Hawke returned, laughing and talking. Fenris watched as he blinked, lifting his head as though unsure where he was, and looking around owlishly. It took only a moment for him to gain his bearings, sitting up and swearing as he crossed his legs, the burnt skin of his legs obviously making itself known. Fenris couldn’t help the fascination with which he watched as the mage healed himself, then took care of Hawke’s sunburn. For some reason the abomination’s magic had never caused him pain. He wondered idly if it were because he were a Spirit Healer. They were rare in Tevinter, and he had never known one before. Anders looked up to see him watching and raised an eyebrow.

“Keep your hands to yourself mage, I do not have the weak skin you southerners have,” Fenris snarled. It was a habit more than anything else, snapping at the mage. Justice hadn’t made an appearance around Fenris since that night, and it was easy to forget that the man was an abomination. He felt a pang of guilt as he watched the small smile fade from Anders’ face, his eyes sliding away again before he busied himself with his pack. He almost regretted plunging his fist into the man’s chest. If the mage were afraid of him all of the time things would be uncomfortable for the entire group, and Fenris didn’t want to be the cause of Hawke losing friends. He resolved to try harder to be friendly when the mage was around.


	5. Pink and Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apples!

Fenris walked through the streets of Hightown, face resolutely forward, ignoring the stares that his ears and brands always brought. It was still quiet at this hour, stall-holders still readying their wares. He stopped off at one stall, purchasing bread rolls and apples, their skin a pleasant mix of soft pink and bright green. Tucking the bag under one arm, he headed for Gamlen’s hovel in Lowtown.

Lowtown was busier. More dock and mine workers lived here, and unlike Hightown’s nobles they needed to get an early start to the day. Elves were more common here too, though they tended to stick to the Alienage. He rapped on the door, pleased when Bethany answered almost immediately. He hadn’t seen the female mage in some time, and he gave her a small bow of welcome, bidding her good morning before asking after Hawke.

Hawke was still abed, so Fenris waited outside while Bethany woke him, chewing contemplatively on one of the apples he had purchased. As Hawke opened the door he flicked the core in the direction of a bunch of pigeons, smirking at them as they fought over the remains of the fruit.

“Fenris, what in the Maker’s name are you doing here so early,” Hawke was always grumpy early in the morning, Fenris had noticed on overnight jobs. He rumbled a good morning, ignoring the exasperated looks Hawke was giving him. He didn’t want to accuse Hawke of anything, and he tried to formulate the sentence in his head in a way that would not give offence.

“The mage…does he receive pay for our jobs, as I do?” Fenris turned toward Hawke, piercing green eyes not missing the wince Hawke tried to hide behind the hand he was running through his hair.

“Um…yes? Fenris, I’m really hungover…can we talk about pay another time?” Hawke squinted up at the sun as though pained, his brown eyes narrowing as though the sun was deliberately there to do him damage. “Varric generally takes care of payment, you know that. Why this sudden interest in Anders’ pay?”

“Hmm…” Fenris grunted, non-committal. He had forgotten Varric managed most of the money concerns for Hawke. “I will speak with Varric then. I apologise for waking you.” With that he left, leaving a hungover and bewildered Hawke peering after him before going back inside to sleep off his remaining headache.

\---------

Varric was awake, telling stories to urchins in the courtyard in front of the Hanged Man. Fenris stood to the side and watched for a while. The children hung on Varric’s every word. Whatever else the dwarf was, he certainly knew how to entertain. Varric had yet to look his way, and Fenris shifted uncomfortably, the lyrium lines on his feet aching. He lifted his feet, scowling at the lines on them. Lifting them one at a time only relieved one at a time, but there was nowhere to sit here unless he sat on the ground.

“Fenris!” Varric, it seemed, had finally finished his story, and he wandered over to the elf as the children scattered. “What are you up to Broody, you’re staring at the ground as though it attacked you?” Fenris sent another scowl his way. He was not about to explain the pain from his markings, or the fact that sitting on the ground brought back memories of his time as a slave. Instead he jerked his head towards the tavern, letting Varric lead the way in. The dwarf called out cheery hellos to the regulars as he went in his easy going way, a smile and a wave for everyone. Fenris wondered whether he would ever feel so free in his own skin that he could act that way. The thought prompted another glare, why were his memories haunting him so this morning? He realised belatedly when Varric turned around that he had levelled the glare at the back of the dwarf’s head and quickly schooled his face back to impassivity.

“So, elf, what can I do for you?”

I wish to discuss the mage?”

“And which one would that be? Daisy, Sunshine…”

“The abomination!” Varric sighed.

“He has a name, Broody.”

“As do I, dwarf, and yet I do not hear you using it,” Fenris growled.

“Ok, ok,” Varric raised his hands, a placatory gesture that did nothing to wipe the frown from Fenris’ face. “What do you want to talk about?” Fenris forehead wrinkled, unsure once again of how to phrase his question. He took a breath, looking Varric in the eye.

“The mage…is he…do you pay him a fair share for his efforts?”

“Of course I do,” Varric looked offended, “I’m not about to piss off the only healer that we have, am I? What brought this on? You, worrying about Anders? You guys don’t exactly get along.” Fenris flushed, embarrassed more by the questioning from the dwarf, than by his own concerns. He rocked from foot to foot again.

“He does not appear to be able to afford enough food,” Fenris spread his hands before him. “We require the services of a healer. He will be unable to help Hawke if he becomes ill.” Varric watched him for a moment before replying, eyes shrewd. He’d been watching Anders and Fenris at Wicked Grace, the times when both of them bothered to show up, and there was something odd about the way they interacted. He hadn’t managed to put his finger on it yet, but he would, given time.

“Well, you know Blondie. Actually I pay him a bit more than the rest of us. He’s got the clinic to run, and those potion bottles and bandages don’t pay for themselves,” Varric shrugged. “As for food, I’ve seen him giving away food to his patients more times than I can count. Can’t stop him. Wouldn’t want to, either. Blondie’s a good man.” Fenris had stood without moving during Varric’s short speech, and now he simply nodded once, and left. Varric shook his head. Something would get through to the elf eventually, but he wasn’t sure it would be him.

\------------------

Anders’ clinic was open and busy by the time Fenris arrived still cradling his bag of food under his arm. He stood uncomfortably by the door, watching as patient after patient were treated. It surprised him, not only that Anders often didn’t use his magic, but also that he dared to at all. It wasn’t as though the Templars he was so afraid of never patrolled down here. It showed some courage living in this city at all, bastion of the Chantry that it was.

Finally the line of patients ebbed to a trickle, and it wasn’t until then that Anders noticed the elf standing near his door. He was moving his feet as though they pained him – something that Anders had noticed him doing on other occasions. He approached cautiously, at once fearful of what the elf was capable of, as well as determined to protect his clinics and patients.

“Fenris,” he acknowleged. The elf seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, a look that Anders couldn’t pin down flickering across his face. Suddenly the elf shot out an arm and Anders flinched violently, tripping backwards and falling to the floor.

“Mage, it is not…I am not going to hurt you. It is only food.” Fenris reached forward guiltily, offering a hand to pull Anders to his feet where he had landed. Anders looked at his face, at his hand. He still seemed unsure whether Fenris was going to put his hand into his chest again. Eventually, when Fenris did no more than watch him calmly, he reached out and took the elf’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up.

“Why, ah, why…?” Anders silently cursed the waver in his voice. This was his clinic and his home, he was a Warden, and a mage and he needed to make a stand, here if nowhere else! He cleared his throat, and tried again. “Why did you bring me food, Fenris? What are you here for, did you need healing?”

“No. I do not require healing. Here, take it.” Fenris held out the bag of food again, moving more slowly this time. He lay the bag on Anders table, then stepped back. Anders was still looking at him curiously, and he ducked his head, uncomfortable with this kind of close scrutiny from a mage. “Eat it, mage. You are too thin, it is not healthy.”

Anders knew his mouth was hanging open as he watched the elf walk away. Once the shaggy white haired head had passed out of the clinic doors, he managed to close it, snapping his jaws shut. The bag had bread, freshly baked by the smell, and apples. Anders couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an apple. The skin was glossy, pink and green, and in the dim light of Darktown it looked almost supernaturally colourful. He sniffed it, feeling guilty that he was suspicious, but the elf had never had any love for him. Nothing strange, just the glorious scent of sweet, ripe apple. He hummed appreciatively, sinking his teeth through the peel and into the crisp white flesh beneath. Maybe he would just keep a couple for himself… Justice grumbled at the thought of him being selfish, and he quashed the thoughts. An apple, was not selfish. An apple that turned up as a mysterious gift from a cranky elf…nope not selfish. He wasn’t going to question it, not when they tasted so good. Anders went back to work with a smile on his face.


	6. Purple and Brown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for the Deep Roads expedition, things can only go in one direction from here - down and badly!
> 
> OK, so maybe the colours are only a tenuous connection here, but I did my best!!

“Bethany, you know I can’t take you with me, Mother will never let me hear the end of it! Look…I’m sorry, but please, stay home with Mother and Gamlen. We’ll be back before you know it,” Hawke hugged his little sister tightly. He knew she didn’t like being left behind, but if anything happened to her after what had happened to Carver, Leandra would never forgive him. Not that she had ever really forgiven him for Carver’s death either. He sighed, laying his cheek on Bethy’s shoulder for a moment.

“Garrett, please, just take care. I know you’ll have Anders with you, but you have no idea what’s going to be down there! I worry,”

“I know you do, and you know I’ll take care. I’ll come back, I promise you. I promise, ok?” Bethany looked up at him with her eyes shining with unshed tears. She gave him another hug, then pushed him towards where Bartrand and the rest of the expedition waited. Anders and Fenris appeared to be bickering again, which was a shame. Bethany was a sweet girl, and couldn’t understand why the two couldn’t just get along. Yes, they both had rather nasty pasts…but you couldn’t always let that rule your future, could you? She walked over to them while Hawke headed over to Varric and Bartrand to smooth over the last minute details.

Fenris watched her walk over. He had a soft spot for the girl, mage though she was. She was as sweet as Merrill, but without the determined naivety that got on his nerves. She asked curious questions about the Circles at times, making Fenris wonder if she wished to join one, although the replies that the abomination gave her were likely to put an end to that idea.

He had been bringing food regularly to the mage in his Darktown clinic, a fact that confused him sometimes, and definintely confused Anders. He wasn’t sure where the impulse came from, only that it was important to keep the one healer among them taken care of. He looked up with a blink, realising that Bethany had been speaking to them while he was wool-gathering.

“Do you ever miss Tevinter, Fenris?” Fenris blinked at her, his face impassive. Anders watched curiously.

 **“** I was a slave.” Fenris’ voice was flat, his tone unreadable.

 **“** Still, it was your home, right? The only one you remember?” Anders silently cursed Bethany for bringing up Fenris’ memory loss. Normally Bethany could be relied upon to cheer up any conversations, she must really be feeling anxious about her brother leaving, the way she was speaking, as though she had lost her thought to mouth filter. He sighed.

 **“** Does it ever feel strange not to be there?” Bethany’s face was open as ever, her eyes wide. Anders stiffened, the Circle had been his home for far too long, but it was anything but strange not to be there, it was wonderful.

 **“** Sometimes. That does not mean I would go back.” Fenris tried to be patient with the girl, but really this was getting a little too personal, not to mention ridiculous. As though he could return to Tevinter without being clapped in chains the moment he ran into any humans. He would be enslaved again before he got as far as the first village on the border. He clenched his hands, jaw tight as he tried to remain calm.

“So, the magister put lyrium in your skin?” Anders gave another heavy sigh, leaning on his staff…wasn’t Hawke ready to leave yet? The last thing he wanted was to get a start on this expedition with the elf already in a foul mood. To his surprise, Fenris answered patiently, appearing calm, although Anders could see him making fists and rocking from foot to foot.

 **“** So I'm told.”

 **“** Does it hurt?” Really? Where was Bethany’s mind today! As he was about to intervene, Fenris replied softly, so softly Anders almost missed the words.

“You do not want to know the answer to that question.” Thank the Maker, Bartrand was shouting for attention, announcing his expedition to all and sundry, and here was Leandra, come to lead Bethany back home. Anders thought on what he had heard. He’d suspected for some time that Fenris’ markings caused him pain. He never seemed to stand still for long, wouldn’t tolerate shoes even at Hawke’s suggestion, and you only had to know the elf five minutes to find out that touching him without permission was a bad idea.

It hurt something inside Anders that the elf was suffering every minute of the day. Anders was a healer, first and foremost, and injuries that he couldn’t mend were a cause of anguish. Maker, that Master of his had been a bastard. Justice struggled inside Anders’ mind, and Anders rubbed his forehead. He didn’t want the spirit ranting at him all day about the injustices of slavery, and certainly not about the possible deliciousness of lyrium engraved into Fenris’ skin. He shouted a mental SHUT UP, and planted his staff firmly. Looked like they were moving out now. Fenris brought up the rear, more subdued than Anders had seen him before.

\------------------------

They reached the entrance to the Deep Roads just before nightfall, and Anders silently thanked the Maker that they had decided to camp outside for the night before heading in. It was a large party, but he was the only Warden here. He struggled a little with that – he was willingly heading into the Deep Roads again, with none of his Warden companions, and they were heading for an unknown Thaig that his maps didn’t show the way to.

It made him nervous. Well, each of those things made him nervous, what he felt now was well on its way to becoming a full-blown panic attack. At least he didn’t have to face it until the morning. Still, they had set up camp not far from the entrance, and he could feel the skittering of darkspawn in his head. Not near enough to worry about but they were there. This seemed like a good time to remind the others in their group about the dangers of darkspawn blood and the importance of immediate healing. He settled on the flattest rock he could find near the campfire. It probably wasn’t really wise to have a fire here either, but it was a large party, and he couldn’t sense any danger nearby. He scrubbed at his eyes with his hand.

Fenris was watching the mage. He had filled out a little since Fenris had taken to bringing him food, and Fenris was pleased. Heading into the Deep Roads was a dangerous venture, and they needed their healer at his best. He wondered at the satisfaction he got from seeing the man with more flesh on his ribs, then shook his head at himself with an annoyed ‘pfaugh’. He passed the mage a slice of bread and a cup of tea, only raising his eyebrows and smirking when Anders thanked him in surprise.

Hawke and Varric had settled on the ground on the other side of the fire and were getting out a pack of cards. Anders cleared his throat and raised his voice a little. “I know that I’ve said this already, but be careful of darkspawn blood. You don’t want to get the taint,” he may also have mumbled ‘trust me on that’ under his breath, but if anyone heard they didn’t pay attention.

“Yes, mother,’ Hawke said, rolling his eyes. He had been full of sass since they had set out that morning. Anders hoped that he didn’t have his high expectations dashed, not after all of the work that they had done to save the money to join the expedition in the first place. Still, he needed to make the man see!

“Hawke, I’m serious. Anything, even a scratch, you’ve got to tell me so that I can heal it immediately. Don’t let any of their blood get in your mouth, and if it does, let me know that too. It’s not safe,” he could hear his own voice getting shrill, and stopped abruptly, taking a sip of the tea.

“It’s ok, Anders, we’ve all heard your spiel already. You will definitely be the first one to know if I so much as stub a toe down there,” Varric chuckled. “Now how about a round of Wicked Grace before we bed down for the night?” Anders caught himself shaking his head and stopped almost before he had begun. Sure, play cards, that will help to prepare for the Darkspawn.

All day Justice had argued with him, angry that they were leaving the clinic, leaving the mage situation in Kirkwall, doing anything but what Justice wanted. Anders had been regretting their joining more and more lately. It seemed he never had a moment’s peace, and if it weren’t for the fact that Fenris brought him food every day, he wasn’t sure that the spirit would let him eat. He had convinced Justice that it would be unjust not to eat when the food was a gift though, after all the elf had spent his hard-earned money on it for them, so Anders had been eating better than he had since leaving the Wardens.

Anders let his eyes stray towards Fenris, glancing away again quickly when he realised that the elf was watching him. He blushed, then buried his face in his teacup to hide it. The elf was still the most gorgeous thing he’d seen, and still argued with him incessantly. He also brought food for Anders almost daily, and seemed to keep an eye on him in battle. Anders didn’t even pretend to understand what went on in that head.

Fenris stifled his own grin. The mage was cute when he blushed – now where had that thought come from? Not that Fenris hadn’t thought he was good looking from the beginning…But enjoying his blush was something different. It wasn’t a feeling Fenris felt comfortable with, somehow. He decided to turn in early, he had last watch, and getting an extra hour of sleep now wasn’t a bad idea. He waved a gauntleted hand at Varric to indicate that he wasn’t to be dealt in, and wandered off to find a space for his bedroll.

\--------------

The morning came too quickly as far as Anders was concerned, heralded by the dim light of the sun battling with deep purple storm clouds rolling in from the horizon. At least underground they would be away from the storm. He shivered. He hated the Deep Roads! So much for running from the Wardens…he’d hoped never to be here again, at least not until his Calling came. Anders stopped that thought in its tracks – he didn’t want to think about his last days just as they were entering the Deep Roads, bad luck and all that. Staff in hand, he stood at the entrance, waiting for the rest of the party to ready themselves. He had the precious maps tucked into a pocket of his robes, and Hawke had had Varric draw up another set that he held himself.

Anders looked around. Fenris was up and packed, practising sword forms off to the side where nobody would get hurt by the great sword that he was swinging around. Anders had never seem him at practise before, and couldn’t help but admire the elf’s strength. The sword was just slightly shorter than the elf was tall, and yet he wielded it with utter grace and certainty. He didn’t even need both hands, but switched the sword from one hand, to both, to the other hand. His movements were like a dance.

Anders realised he was staring but honestly, he didn’t care. Justice approved of this distraction, he could feel the hum that meant the spirit was pleased in the back of his mind. Fenris didn’t even have his brands lit, and still the spirit liked to look as Fenris moved, lyrium lines pale in the dim light against Fenris’ soft brown skin.

_‘Justice, you are such a pervert.’_

‘THE ELF SINGS OF THE FADE, HE SMELLS LIKE HOME’. Anders watched, as Fenris finally stood still, sheathing his sword and making his way over to Varric and Hawke who were helping Bartrand’s group with the last of the packing. Any minute now they would be heading in, heading down, the weight of all that stone over their heads, and the only light that which they provided themselves. Anders really, really hated the Deep Roads. He suppressed a shudder, straightened his shoulders, and set his staff in the ground beside him. Let them think he was being lazy, he needed this few minutes alone to get his thoughts together.

\--------------

Fenris had noticed Anders standing alone beside the entrance. The mage looked terrified. It didn’t show on his face, but in the way he stood, his shoulders were tense, something about the way he held his staff was wrong, as though he were relying on it holding him up, rather than readying it for battle, or travel. Fenris frowned, had the mage eaten this morning? He couldn’t recall seeing him when rations were being handed out. He strode up to the dwarf who was handling the food, Bodahn, was that his name? Grabbing a waterskin and a fruit-stufffed bread roll from the dwarf, he took them over to the mage.

“Eat, mage,” Fenris ordered, holding his offerings out stiffly. Anders jumped a little, turning quickly and staring with surprise at the food.

“You don’t have to feed me you know, Fenris…Not that I’m ungrateful or anything,” he quickly added as the elf frowned at him. “I’m quite capable of feeding myself you know,” Anders closed his mouth as the frown deepened to a full-blown scowl.

“I beg to differ, mage. You were far too thin before. I have not been bringing you food all this time to have you starve yourself now that we are heading into danger.” This seemed to be enough for the spiky elf, as he promptly closed his mouth tight, and couldn’t be prompted into speaking again. He stood stiffly beside Anders, arms crossed, watching with an impassive face until he saw that the man was eating before stalking off.

Anders watched him go, his thoughts even more in turmoil. The broody elf cared about his health, that was certain. What wasn’t certain was why. He had pegged Fenris early as a mage hater, even more as a hater of abominations, and he was very aware that there were good reasons for that. Even before the ‘hand-around-the-heart-incident’ he’d resigned himself to being watched and judged. Well, it seemed that the elf wasn’t only watching his magic but his body as well. He grinned a little around a mouthful of bread roll. The elf was cute when he cared. He didn’t know how to do it. The way he thrust each gift of food at Anders it was almost as if he were handling a deadly viper and just wanted to get rid of it. It was kind of adorable really. Anders shook his head, grin fading. The expedition was ready to go, and it was time to lead them inside.

\----------------

Darkspawn were skittering around in the edges of Anders’ head, and he knew that they were getting closer. “Darkspawn ahead, at least five, but no emissaries,” he called to Hawke. Hawke nodded, and another nod to Fenris had the elf scouting ahead immediately, sword in hand. As they turned the corner the darkspawn charged them, a handful of small ones, the battle would probably be over before anyone else caught up to Fenris. He was surprised then, when Fenris _was_ injured. As the elf raised his sword and swung it towards the oncoming spawn, a deepstalker leaped in from the side where it had gone unnoticed. Latching on to Fenris’ ankle it sank it’s teeth into the elf’s leg, hampering his usually graceful steps and swings. Anders hit it with a bolt of lightning, swearing at himself for being unprepared. They had hardly entered the Deep Roads, he was a Warden for Maker’s sake, it was his job to be alert.

Racing forward to where Fenris was, he eased him down to the ground. In the dim light from Ander’s staff the blood from the wound looked brown and filthy. Quickly, he channelled spirit magic into the wound, checking for signs of the Taint as he did so. Nothing. Breathing a sigh of relief, he looked up to see Fenris watching him. Anders quickly raised his hands and backed away. “Maker, Fenris. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to touch you without permission, to cast on you. It’s just…” Fenris was silent, watching. “I have to heal everything as quickly as possible down here. I’m sorry.”

Fenris watched as the mage’s eyes skittered away from his face. He understood the dangers of the Deep Roads, he had listened to all of the mage’s lectures as well as the others had. He raised one lyrium-lined palm, grasping the mage’s hand before he could back away. It was instinct, there was no though behind it, but Anders flinched as though he had been struck, then stared at their joined hands in surprise.

“We are victorious, mage. I do not hold your healing against you. Thank you for your assistance,” Fenris waited until the mage met his eyes before releasing him. He was annoyed at the fear the man still showed around him. Had he not been feeding him? Had he not been attempting to remain friendly? And yet the mage still looked as though he feared Fenris would crush his heart any second. Fenris promised himself to try harder, it was unnerving that the only healer, the only Warden that they had was so afraid of him. He had hoped that time together would have taught the mage to see him as something other than the terrifying living weapon that Danarius had fashioned him into, but it didn’t seem to be the case. With a sigh, he stood, sheathing his sword. The mage was already walking forward, mage-light sparkling at the top of his staff, and Fenris frowned again. Anders may be the one taking the lead, but he couldn’t do it alone. Fenris trotted to catch up.


	7. Red and White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Deep Roads...

They had been down in the Deep Roads for days, but it wasn’t until right now that Fenris lost his cool. Bartrand had locked them in. The door had just slammed close, and Anders had immediately collapsed. Varric was screaming at the door, and Hawke seemed to have lost all of the sass he had at the beginning of the expedition, and devolved into anxious, unhelpful, hand-wringing instead.

Fenris wanted, quite badly, to yell at Hawke, to tell Varric to shut up, and to go back to Kirkwall – not necessarily in that order. Instead he knelt by the mage, propping up his head, and calling his name until he saw the man’s eyelids flutter as he regained consciousness. As Anders came to, his eyes got wider and wider, until Fenris could see the white’s surrounding those honey coloured irises. Then, as quick as a blink, Anders had snapped his eyes shut, covered his head with his arms and was shaking and moaning in Fenris’ arms.

Fenris sighed, instead of screaming. This looked very much like a trauma response, and screaming was not going to help. “Mage. Mage, can you hear me?” Anders shook his head, which wasn’t particularly helpful. Obviously he could hear though, so Fenris continued. “Open your eyes, mage. Look at me.” Behind him, Fenris could hear Varric stomping around swearing, and Hawke seemed to have decided that sitting on the floor watching Varric was as much of a plan as he could come up with. Fenris’ patience was wearing thin.

He shook Anders gently. “Look at me, mage.” Slowly, Anders opened his eyes, his gaze fixed so tightly on Fenris that he seemed unable to turn away. “You are safe, mage, look at me. Can you breathe?” Anders started to shake his head, then started to nod, then drew in a shaky breath, still staring at Fenris as though he had suddenly grown two heads. Fenris smiled at him, and Anders’ eyes widened again, his breath coming in little puffs. He was going to hyperventilate if Fenris couldn’t calm him down. He took Anders hand and placed it on his own rib cage. “Breathe with me, mage. In, out, slow – understand? You are safe, I have you.” Anders clutched at Fenris’ tunic so tightly that Fenris could feel his knuckles, and thought that he would have bruises on his ribs tomorrow, but the mage was breathing now, and that was good. Somewhere behind him, Varric had finally settled down, and he could hear Hawke speaking. He focussed on the mage though.

“Are you feeling better? Does this bring up…bad memories?” Fenris had his share of bad memories, and the mage was acting as though he were stuck in a waking nightmare. Anders nodded, still laid out on the floor, still gripping Fenris as though he were the only thing that could save him. Fenris sighed again. He was not the best qualified person to help someone deal with an anxiety attack, but at the moment it looked like he was all Anders had. Summoning another smile, he pulled Anders up into a sitting position, and gently detached Anders’ fist from his tunic. He held the man’s hand. “Do you…will you feel better if you talk about it?” He quirked an eyebrow at the mage, who finally seemed to be settling.

“Kinloch…” Anders gasped a little, but continued. “Kinloch Circle…I was in solitary for a year.” He waved a hand at the rock walls and low ceiling, blinking furiously as a few tears escaped, “Bad memories, don’t like being closed in.” Fenris stared at him in astonishment, unthinkingly gripping his hand tighter. He had been put in solitary confinement by Danarius but it had been for less than a month – Danarius had needed his bodyguard. One of the other slaves had been locked up for six months, and when he was let out he was raving, so broken that he was never the same. Not that it mattered – Danarius simply used him as a blood sacrifice and that was that. A year! Even a week of confinement was too much. Fenris shuddered with his own memories. It was a wonder the mage was able to function at all. It was incredible. Suddenly things that Fenris had noticed about the mage seemed to make more sense.

Anders always stayed out in the rain, it was almost an obsession with him. Fenris had taunted him about his stupidity after seeing him standing outside in all weather in Lowtown, but the desire to be outside was understandable. To feel the wind and rain and sun on your face. He felt guilty. How many times had the mage told him about abuses suffered at the Circle, and he had snapped and snarled back and refused to listen. Realising that he was still gripping the mage’s hand, Fenris slid his fingers free. The mage pushed himself up.

“Thank you. Really, Fenris. I’ll try to hold it together. I’m sorry,” Anders was babbling, but that was better than being comatose – Fenris counted it was a win.

“There is no need to apologise, mage. I…I know some of what you have gone through. I apologise for not listening earlier.”

Anders was surprised at Fenris’ apology, as well as his understanding. He looked up just in time to be hit with the full-force of Fenris’ puppy eyes. It was adorable, it was devastating, Anders was confused, and claustrophobic and Fenris had been holding his hand! Without thinking he leaned forward and kissed Fenris on the cheek. Fenris startled, then flushed, a gorgeous pink blush rising from his neck to his ears. He coughed, then stood.

“Er…I will scout ahead for another exit,” and with that he was gone, leaving Anders kicking himself internally while Justice crowed happily in the back of his mind.

_Seriously Justice?_

HE TOUCHED US, THE LYRIUM SINGS. HOME. Justice started crooning to himself in the back of Anders mind. Which honestly was hardly disturbing at all. Anders was still kicking himself for being so stupid as to scare the elf off. He didn’t even know why he had done that. Kissing the mage-hating elf! What had he been thinking?? Justice crooned, and Anders sent disgusted thoughts his way, but he could still feel the soft warmth of Fenris skin on his lips, and he raised his fingertips to his lips with a small smile.

\----------------

It was another two weeks before they saw the sun again. There wasn’t one of them who wasn’t a mess of white bandages and red blood, despite Anders’ best efforts. The mage himself was a wreck, pale and trembling. Hawke had gone quiet and withdrawn into himself, Varric had stopped trying to cheer them up. Darkspawn, dragon, rock wraiths…the constant feeling of the walls closing in and the ever-present, barely-held-back darkness – it had not been a good few weeks.

Fenris had dedicated himself to caring for the mage. Hawke and Varric were coping a lot better, and focussing on the mage gave Fenris an excuse not to dwell on his own fears and memories. He had coaxed the mage through each day, each meal, soothing him through nightmares at night. Anders was still not okay, but he was better than he would have been otherwise. Fenris was exhausted. For days now he had gone without sleep, staying on alert for the spawn, and making sure that Anders got rest at night.

When they saw the glimmer of light at the exit they were too exhausted to do more than keep putting one foot in front of the other. It wasn’t until their feet hit grass, until the sunshine shone into their squinting, painfully dilated eyes, that they looked around with a sense of unreality. It was Anders who smiled first, then laughed, and if it had a touch of hysteria in it, nobody said a word.

Fenris took a few steps forward, hearing the mage’s laughter behind him. They were out. The healer was safe. They were all safe. Without a sound, he collapsed.


	8. Yellow and Crimson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Fenris.... and confused Anders. Helpful Varric and fairly useless Hawke (because I said so!)

“Andraste’s knickerweasels!” Anders was first to notice that Fenris was down, and that he wasn’t getting back up. It put a swift end to his hysterical laughter, as his healer instincts took over. They were all hungry, tired, filthy and injured, but…if he had missed something…if Fenris had been tainted, he wouldn’t forgive himself.

Anders dashed over to where Fenris had fallen, turning him frantically to look for injuries he may have missed, bruising, signs of the Blight. Nothing. What he did notice though was that the elf’s leathers were…loose. Fenris’ leathers were never loose, they were skin tight – not that Anders had been looking or anything of course!

YOU ARE RIGHT, HE HAS LOST WEIGHT. HIS THIGHS AND BUTTOCKS ARE USUALLY FULLER THAN THIS.

_Maker’s breath, Justice! Thanks for the pervy comments – I can see he’s lost weight, but why? We’ve had plenty of rations._

THE ELF HAS GONE WITHOUT, HAVE YOU NOT NOTICED HIM FEEDING YOU?

_What? Fenris fed me his food?_

YES

_All of it?_

I HAVE NOTICED HIM EATING ONLY INFREQUENTLY SINCE WE WERE LOCKED IN BY VARRIC’S BROTHER.

 _Oh Maker._ Anders was shaken to the core by guilt. But…why hadn’t Varric and Hawke done something about it? He looked around. Varric was setting up a tent. Yes, resting here before continuing on was definitely a good idea. Hawke was nowhere to be seen.

“Varric?”

“Blondie, Broody ok?”

“No, he’s not ok!” Anders yelled. “Why did you let him give me all of his food? Did you notice?” Anders glared at the dwarf. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice,” he mumbled under his breath as Varric walked over.

“Can’t say I did, Blondie. We were all a bit messed up in there, but you were having the worst time of it. Maybe Fenris was just trying to help you keep yourself together,” Varric looked down at the fallen elf, still unconscious in Anders’ arms. “I did notice that he didn’t get much sleep at night. Every time I woke he was up and watching over you,” Varric patted Anders on the shoulder. “He’s tough Blondie. I’m sure he’ll be fine once he gets a few meals in him.”

“But…why was he watching me sleep?”

“You’re really asking me that, Warden? You were having quite the nightmares down there. I saw him pull you out of them more than once.” Anders shook his head before turning to glare at Varric again.

“So, you’re telling me that our ONLY warrior, the best fighter that we have, has starved himself, and gone without sleep for what? Two weeks? And you let him?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Anders carefully lay Fenris back down, and stood, towering over Varric, more furious than the dwarf had ever seen him. “Woah, Bondie. Anders, settle down. You can wiggle your fingers at him, right? He’s going to be fine!” Varric took a step backwards as the mage leaned forward and poked one long finger at his chest.

“You had better hope he will be OK, Varric Tethras. And Hawke! And no! I can’t just ‘wiggle my fingers’ at him. He’s comatose! He’s stick thin, and probably malnourished! He’s been starving himself! Stupid elf,” he finished, somewhat ungratefully. “Where is Hawke, anyway?”

“Went to find a stream to fill up some waterskins, I think.” Varric scratched at his chest hair and went back to the tent. Anders was just overwrought. He was sure that Fenris would be fine given rest and a meal or two. This did provide some interesting fodder for his latest chapter though…

\-------------

Fenris didn’t wake that night, though Anders spent hours trickling healing magic into him. It was cold, and Varric and Hawke had helped him carry the elf into the only tent. He sat on the bedroll beside the elf, feeling wretched. He had removed the elf’s armour, only to be horrified all over again when he saw the way that his ribs and collarbones protruded, the thinness of his thighs and upper arms. It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t right that this crazy, infuriating elf, who hated mages for the very best of reasons had gone without food and sleep to care for him. For him! He was the Warden, the Healer, the one who was supposed to be leading and taking care of everyone, and he had failed in this as in so much else. He would not fail Fenris though, he vowed. He would have the elf back on his feet and in fighting condition as soon as he could. Varric was right, he needed food and rest, but he knew that Varric had no idea how much food and rest Fenris needed to really recover.

Compounding his misery was the way that Justice was harassing him. The spirit was enamoured of the lyrium ghost, and although he was aware that Anders hadn’t been himself in the Deep Roads, he was giving him a hard time for it now. Anders dropped his head wearily, shoving Justice weakly back, silencing him as well as he could. Eventually weariness overcame him, and he lay down.

_Justice?_

Nothing. The spirit was probably annoyed with him now and was giving him the silent treatment. Just as well, really. He didn’t want Justice waking the elf and being the cause of Anders’ innards being torn out. It was a long time, watching the rise and fall of Fenris’ painfully thin chest before Anders managed to fall asleep.

\----------------------

In the end, they had carried him back to Kirkwall, and straight to the clinic. Hawke had loudly maintained his ignorance of the warriors actions when confronted, but Anders didn’t miss the looks that Varric was giving him out of the corner of his eye. Hawke had left, off to tell his mother the good news about the treasure they had found. Varric lingered.

“Anders, I’m really sorry. I had no idea he’d be in such a bad state.”

“It’s alright Varric. I’m the one who should have noticed. This is my fault, not yours. I’m sorry for yelling at you yesterday,” Anders gave the dwarf a weary smile.

“No need to apologise, Blondie. Is there anything you need? Potions, ingredients? I can round some up for you, just let me know,” Varric patted Anders awkwardly on the shoulder and smiled.

“No, I think I’ve got everything…actually, you could get Lirene to send up some food. Broth would be good. He’s not going to be able to keep much down at first.”

“Consider it done, my friend. You know where I’ll be if you need me.”

Anders nodded his thanks, watching Varric walk away before heading back to his patient. Fenris had been laid on one of the cots, his body looking more frail than Anders had ever seen it. He felt another surge of guilt and shook his head at himself angrily. Guilt wasn’t going to help anything. He had to get a healing potion and some broth into the elf, that was the first priority. After that had been done, and Fenris was resting, Anders had a plan. He was going to repay Fenris. He would find a way to make the elf see that not all magic was bad, not all mages were evil. He would do his research, come up with a way to take away the pain from the lyrium markings. Nodding to himself, Anders began to whistle, yes, that was the plan.

\---------------------

Lirene brought the broth down herself. She was a paragon among women, Anders told her, gaining a slap on shoulder for his presumption. He set out a small bowl to cool, and a healing potion. He checked Fenris over once again, in case there were any signs of taint or injuries that he had missed. Anders was feeling better himself, his magic fully rejuvenated, and he sent a strong wave of rejuvenation magic into the elf. No response. He frowned a little, and tried again. This time, the elf’s eyelids flickered, and slowly he opened his eyes.

“Hey, sleepy head,” Anders smiled.

“Where…?” Fenris normally deep voice was little more than a whisper, and his eyes were wandering. Anders waited until they met his eyes again.

“We’re back in Kirkwall. You’re at my clinic. I have some broth for you, and a healing potion I’d like you to drink if you can manage it.” Fenris was still looking dazed. “Can I touch you, Fenris? I need to prop you up so you don’t choke.”

“Mage…”

“That’s what they tell me!” Anders was determined to keep up a cheerful bedside manner, although it was breaking him a little to see the elf looking so…wrong. Fenris should be strong. He should be feisty, argumentative. He should definitely not look like a starved, bedraggled kitten…nope. He waited patiently, before Fenris managed a nod. Wriggling one arm beneath the elf’s shoulders, (and weren’t those shoulder blades prominent!), Anders propped him up on a rolled up blanket. He held out the bowl of broth, unsure if the elf would be able to feed himself, but not wanting to offend.

Fenris eyed the bowl as if it were going to attack him, brows drawing down in a frown, and Anders grinned. That was more like it. He waited, and Fenris stubbornly pushed himself up, before taking the bowl, and cradling it in his fingers. He sipped at it cautiously, slowly. Almost like he had been starved before and knew that he had to be careful. Anders mentally kicked himself. What had the elf said about Danarius’ apprentice? Hadan…Hadriana! That she had denied him meals regularly and hounded his sleep. Yes, that was it.

He uncapped the potion, setting it where Fenris could reach it, and waited patiently as Fenris sipped at his broth.

“How did I get here?” His voice was stronger now, Anders noted happily.

“Well, we made it out. Remember?” A slow nod. “Then you swooned like a damsel in distress,” Anders was teasing, and was taken aback when Fenris growled at him. “I’m sorry! I was teasing. I… apologise. Fenris…thank you for looking after me in the Deep Roads. I was a mess, and I didn’t even notice that you were taking such good care of me. I feel like a fool. Can you forgive me?” Anders felt tears pricking behind his eyes, and ducked his head, turning away before Fenris noticed. He was not going to cry! He busied himself at his potions table until he felt more in control, and turned around to see Fenris looking at him with a strange expression on his face. He looked…well, he looked happy. Anders wasn’t sure what to think.

Fenris tried to put the bowl back down on the crate beside his cot, and missed. “Fenhedis!” Ahh, so the feisty was coming back as well. Good! The wooden bowl rolled around on the floor, and Anders stooped to pick it up, before handing Fenris the healing potion.

“Here. Drink this, then rest.” He was turning away again when he felt Fenris’ fingers brush against his sleeve. He turned around, surprised. Fenris was watching him, holding his sleeve with one hand, and the potion bottle with the other. He downed the potion in one swallow and pulled a face at the bitterness.

“I am glad that you are well, mage,” Fenris sighed. “I am weary now.” Anders took the potion bottle without a word, and sat down on the crate.

“Would you like me to help you sleep, Fenris. I can use magic, or I have a sleeping potion? Or…” Fenris smiled, a tiny smile, but it was there. He closed his eyes.

“You are babbling mage. I will not be able to sleep through that.” Anders huffed a laugh. He moved the rolled-up blanket so that Fenris could lay down properly. That Fenris had smiled at him, that he had trusted him enough to sleep here, defenceless… Anders didn’t know whether to be happy that the elf trusted him, or sad that he was in this state. He thought it was probably a bit of both. Walking through to the curtained off area that served as his bedroom, he gathered up the quilt that Lirene had sent down for him last winter. It was yellow, with little crimson flowers embroidered on it. He stroked one of the little flowers, they matched the pillow his mother had embroidered for him and never failed to make him smile. He went back to his sleeping elf, and covered him with the quilt.


	9. Ebony and Copper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heehee - fun with this chapter. Decided to add a few more quirks to the story....

Anders had fallen asleep at his desk again. An array of books was messily laid out before him, texts on healing. He had searched for hours while Fenris slept, looking for a spell that might help to alleviate the pain he experienced from the lyrium, but so far he had found nothing. He blinked, and tried to rub at his sleep-encrusted eyes with the back of a hand. All he managed was to poke himself in the eye with a piece of paper, and he squinted in pain.

“Ow, ow. What in the Maker’s name?” He grabbed the piece of paper, which he had apparently considered a good idea to _glue_ to the back of his hand before he fell asleep. It had one word on it, scrawled in sleepy letters. Lotion. Hmm…that was not a bad idea. Maybe a lotion with willowbark…he stared at the potion for a minute, pondering other herbs that would help to deaden pain and could be combined into a lotion. His thoughts were still sluggish though and it wasn’t long before he decided that it was too early to think straight without some tea. First though, he would check on Fenris.

Anders stood and stretched, joints popping loudly in the quiet of the underground clinic. He smothered a groan of pleasure/pain as the kinks worked themselves out of his spine. He really should start trying to go to bed and not fall asleep in his chair.

 _Morning Justice…Justice_? Hmm, still getting the silent treatment. The spirit was such a child sometimes. Anders grinned to himself, a spirit of Justice having a tantrum…it was amusing. He hummed to himself quietly as he made his way over to the cot where he had left Fenris the night before, only to leap and squawk at the sight that met him. His throat had clogged up mid-hum somehow and his leap had landed him on the cot behind him. Momentarily he thought about just laying down and going back to sleep, because this was obviously a dream…either that or he had finally lost the last of his marbles.

The quilt he had placed over Fenris during the night had fallen to the floor, crumpled beside the cot. And…lying on the cot before him was a wolf. A very small wolf. He would have thought it was half-grown, not much more than a cub, but it had none of the fuzzy adorableness of a baby animal, and its features were those of an adult wolf. It was black as pitch, as ebony, and it was very, very thin. Anders stood, carefully avoiding making a noise, because. There. Was. A. Wolf. In. His. Clinic! Small or not, he still had no idea how it had gotten there, or how in the name of Andraste’s holy breasts he was going to get it out.

And where was Fenris? He had barely been able to lift his own bowl yesterday, there was no way he could have left. Something clicked in Anders’ head, and he stared at the wolf. Fenris had said that his name meant ‘little wolf’, but…this? He scooched over closer, crouching down to have a closer look. Hmm…protruding ribs, scraggy coat that didn’t look healthy at all. Bravely, he reached out and ever so carefully peeled back a lip to look at the wolf’s gums. Well they were nice and pink, so that was good. No sign of tooth decay or internal bleeding.

He was about to send an experimental tendril of healing magic into the wolf, just to check…then he stopped as quickly as he had begun. If this wolf _was_ Fenris, he didn’t want to use any magic on him without permission. Nope. Not doing anything to the wolf…to Fenris, without his express permission first. The elf had been used and abused enough, and Anders wanted Fenris to _trust_ him. Wanted to be the one who saw that shy smile, to be the person who helped him for once, rather than harming.

Decision made, Anders busied himself fetching water and putting a kettle over the fire. He would reheat some of the left-over broth that he had put on ice last night, and get some tea ready for them. When Fenris/wolf woke up, then they could talk, and in the meantime Anders would make some experimental lotions and see what he could come up with. Feeling better, although still slightly worried about the _wolf!!!_ – because what if he was wrong and it wasn’t Fenris??? – Anders set to work.

\---------------------------

Before he was halfway through his tea, Anders was startled by banging on the door. Shit! He hadn’t expected any patients yet – the lantern was still not lit. But that wasn’t what troubled him. What was he going to do with the wolf. He looked over, the wolf was still asleep. Maybe he could just…cover it with a blanket?

“Anders! Open up, it’s me.” Ahh, Hawke. Anders couldn’t decide if that was better or worse. He stood up, dithering for a second, before grabbing a blanket and throwing it in the wolf’s direction. It covered most of the wolf, one sable ear still poking up above the blanket. Hawke banged on the door again, yelling.

“Hawke!” Anders threw the door open before Hawke could not knock it down. “What can I do for you?” He blinked in surprise as Hawke barrelled through the door and past him into the clinic.

“Bethany! It’s Bethany. She’s…she’s been taken to the Circle.” Anders swore.

“Hawke, sit down, take a breath. What happened?” Hawke sat on the crate Anders gestured to, thoughtlessly grabbing up Anders’ tea and throwing it back. Anders sat near him, stretching a hand out to lay on Hawke’s knee.

“The Templars – they came and took her while we were away. Anders, what am I going to do?” Anders sighed, patting Hawke’s knee. He wondered what Hawke expected him to do. There was no way he was going to put himself in danger of being returned to the Circle himself.

“Hawke, I’m so sorry…If there’s anything I can do, I will. But I’m not going back there,” he warned.

“I know, I know. Sorry Anders, didn’t mean to barge in here. I just…the bastards waited until I was gone and just came to Gamlen’s and took her away. Mother’s beside herself.” Hawke scrubbed at his face, then squeezed Anders’ hand. “I won’t put you in any danger Anders, you know that. I…I think I’ll go and speak to Varric. Maybe he can get word in and make sure that she’s alright.” They stood, and Anders grabbed Hawke’s shoulders, pulling him into a rough hug.

“She’s tougher than you think, Hawke. Sunshine’s going to be ok. The Knight Captain, Cullen. He was at Kinloch Circle when I was there. He was…he’s not all bad. If Varric can get some word to him he might keep an eye on her,” Anders released Hawke, stepping back to let the man leave. Of course that was the moment that the wolf stirred, whining softly and stretching its paws, pulling the blanket down to expose its head. Anders spun Hawke around towards the door, feeling the blood rush from his face.

“Are you okay? Is there someone here Anders?” Hawke had a dagger in one hand before Anders could speak, eyes darting around the room. Anders grabbed his elbow, praying that he hadn’t see anything.

“Just a patient Hawke!” he said a little too quickly. “Had to stay the night. You go see Varric, and let me know how you go. I have to get to work,” Anders smiled winningly, and Hawke searched his face for a moment. The mage was probably just pale from lack of sleep. Knowing Anders he’d probably stayed up all night looking after Fenris. Actually…

“How’s Fenris coming along? Has he woken yet?” Hawke frowned, suddenly feeling guilty that he hadn’t spared a thought for the elf since finding out about Bethany.

“Aah, he woke up yesterday. He’s in the back. I’ll send him along when he’s feeling more himself.” With that Anders propelled Hawke towards the door, and out. He resisted slamming it, and hung the lantern out instead, waving Hawke off towards Lowtown. He leaned back against the door, panting slightly, then looked up.

The wolf was awake, and it was watching him. It had pressed itself into the corner of the cot, and its lips were peeled back from its teeth. The poor thing looked terrified. Anders remembered reading somewhere that wolves didn’t like to fight if they could avoid it, and he raised his hands in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner, making soothing noises. The wolf didn’t relax, but neither did it attack. It watched as Anders crept slowly towards his desk, keeping as much space between them as he could. He came to a halt when the wolf started growling, and stood stock still.

The wolf pushed itself upright, staggering a little on spindly legs. Anders worried that it would fall off the cot and get hurt. He was stepping forward and reaching for it before he thought, and really, he had only himself to blame when the wolf closed its jaws around his hand. It stopped short of breaking the skin however, simply holding his palm between its teeth and snarling slightly.

Anders crouched, putting himself face to face with the wolf. Part of him was gibbering in terror and wondering what he was doing. The other part of him just wanted to soothe the scared animal, and get it to lay back down. “Fenris?” he tried, not much above a whisper. The wolf flattened its ears against its head. Hmm…was that a yes, or a no? If it was Fenris could it even understand Common in this form? All good questions that Anders suspected he should have considered before ending up with fangs holding his hand.

There was one thing he could try but it involved magic. He argued with himself for a minute, shaking his head. The wolf watched, and after a moment it released his hand. It was still afraid, still pressed back against the wall, tail between its legs, whites of its eyes showing. Anders decided – in for a copper, in for a sovereign. He wasn’t defenceless, and if worst came to worst he could hide. He raised his arms, slowly, and cast the spell the Hero of Ferelden had taught him. A moment later, and the wolf was peering over the side of the cot. Anders had never seen an astonished wolf before, but he thought that now he could add that to his list of experiences. The wolf peered at him, and he knew what it saw. A cat. A very pretty (so Anders thought), cream and copper tabby with a fluffy tail and softly feathery points to its ears. He looked back at the wolf, waiting to see what would happen.


	10. Emerald and Amber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat and wolf, something's going on!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some pictures of how I imagine them in their animal forms! I see Anders as a Maine Coone, the largest type of domestic cats. They weigh about 20 pounds. And Fenris as a very small wolf, maybe 60 pounds, rather than the 100 or so pounds that wolves normally get to. 
> 
> http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51gbZtivD1L.jpg
> 
> http://www.google.com.au/imgres?imgurl=http://animalonline.info/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/maine-coon-cat-orange-w2k2x6aa.jpg&imgrefurl=http://animalonline.info/maine-coon-cat-orange/maine-coon-cat-orange-wkxaa/&h=741&w=562&tbnid=INehMaLceZpboM:&docid=n0YoJ4oba7pXwM&ei=oOj8VeL-MYuXyASrzIbICQ&tbm=isch&ved=0CBMQMygQMBA4rAJqFQoTCOLO_6SlgsgCFYsLkgodK6YBmQ
> 
> Oh, and in case anyone was wondering why I said wolves didn't like to fight, this is my source:
> 
> Wolves have a basic aversion to fighting and will do much to avoid any aggressive encounters. It has been observed that a socialized wolf had become frantically upset upon witnessing its first dog fight. The distressed wolf intervened and eventually broke up the fight by pulling the aggressor off by the tail.  
> — David Mech and Luigi Boitani, “Wolves: Behavior, ecology, and conservation”, 2003 (via cosmixoracle)

There was a knock at the clinic door and a raspy Ferelden voice called “Healer?” Anders panicked. He flew into the backroom, tail puffed up like a frightened kitten and changed back to his human form faster than he ever had before. Behind him he heard a dull thud, and poked his head through the curtain in time to see the wolf picking itself up off the floor and tottering behind him. Once it was safe in the back room, Anders knelt down in front of it.

“Fenris?” he whispered. The wolf huffed, and gave a curt nod. It sounded so much like Fenris that Anders had to choke down a giggle. “Stay here, okay…Unless, can you change back?” The wolf shook its head, once. “I’ll be right back. Don’t come out! I don’t want you to scare my patients.” The wolf huffed at him again, and settled itself to the floor. It really was adorably small. Anders wanted to pat it, but reminded himself – Fenris, no touching! He walked through to the clinic, a smile plastered on his face, and went to see what he had to heal.

\---------------

Fenris was hungry. And confused. He had never just become the wolf overnight before. He could control the shift, but not in his weakened state. The only time it had happened without volition was when Danarius forced it on him, and the pain that accompanied the forced shift had always been excruciating, lasting until he was back to being an elf again. He could feel no pain now, apart from bruising due to falling off the cot like a silly pup. He looked around. He’d never been in Anders’ personal space before, had only made it into the clinic a few times, and always when Hawke had dragged him down here, never of his own choice. This form enhanced his senses of smell and hearing. Starving as he was, the broth outside smelled delicious, and his stomach growled. He growled back at it, before remembering that he should be keeping quiet.

He crept forward stealthily until he could poke his muzzle past the curtain. There was the broth, still steaming slightly on Anders’ desk. Beyond that he could see Anders fussing over a child, the child’s parents standing nearby as the healer did his job. Maybe he could just sneak over to the desk and…no, that wasn’t going to work. Someone would notice, and then he would just cause trouble for the mage.

Speaking of the mage…he had turned into a cat. Quite a large cat. Probably about half the size of Fenris in this form. Fenris honestly didn’t have the energy to spend a lot of time wondering about it right now. Perhaps the mage had thought he would feel more comfortable with him that way. Perhaps all mages could shapeshift. The wolf wrinkled its brow. It was nothing he had seen in Tevinter, to be sure, but he couldn’t imaging a magister wanting to strut around as a cat anyway. He curled up, tail tucked around his paws and nose, and rested, listening to the murmur of voices outside.

Anders returned shortly afterwards, a large bowl of broth held in his hands. Fenris leapt up at the sight, then wobbled on his weak legs. Anders put the bowl down on the ground for him and watched as he lapped it up enthusiastically.

“Not too fast, Fenris,” he reminded. “I’ve locked the clinic up again for the day, so you’re safe here.” Fenris wagged his tail a little, lacking any other way to reply, and licked at the sides of the now empty bowl. He pushed it towards Anders with his paw, whining. “More? Are you sure? I don’t want to be cleaning up wolf vomit…” Anders hesitated. Fenris needed food, but too much at once was a bad idea. The wolf was looking at him with puppy-eyes, head cocked to one side. Anders sat back on his haunches, laughing. This was definitely the most adorable wolf he had ever seen. Fenris prodded him with a paw, then pushed the bowl along the floor to make a scraping sound. “Alright, you’re the boss,” Anders managed when he had got his chuckling under control, and headed out for more broth.

Fenris followed him, still unsteady on his legs, and Anders watched curiously as he sniffed around the legs of the cots, and the table. He poured more broth into the bowl, sending a quick burst of heat into it, then paused – did wolves like warm food? All that he knew of wolves he could probably write on one palm, but he knew that they liked to kill their prey and eat it. Well, freshly killed innards were warm, right? He shook his head at himself, placing the bowl on the floor for Fenris, who trotted over as quickly as he could manage.

Anders sat on the floor, leaning back against the wall as he watched Fenris lap up the broth. Reaching up, he uncapped a healing potion, and when the bowl was empty he poured it in. Fenris looked up, disapproval evident. He lay his ears back against his head and flopped to the floor, turning his head away from the bowl.

“Hey! Healer’s orders, get that into you. I don’t care how bad it tastes.” Fenris glared at him, then licked up the potion. He snorted and sneezed fiercely afterwards before giving Anders a look of utter disdain. He tottered off, settling himself on the quilt that had been knocked to the floor the night before, and trod it into shape, circling a few times before curling up. Anders just smiled at him, then cleaned up the bowl and the potion bottle before pottering around getting himself breakfast and a fresh cup of tea.

Fenris lay curled up watching the man move around for a while. He felt safe here. Anders hadn’t attacked him or chased him out. He had understood. He closed his eyes, ears pricked, listening as Anders began to hum, and let the sound send him off to sleep.

\------------------

Fenris awoke. It was dim, but not entirely dark. A single candle burned on the desk, flame fluttering weakly. He wondered idly if it were morning or night. There was no way to tell down here in Darktown, shut away from the sun as they were. He frowned…how did the mage cope with being shut away down here all of the time. Especially after how he had reacted in the Deep Roads. He looked at the candle again. Light. And the ability to leave whenever he wished. Those things probably helped.

He was in the process of lifting a back leg to scratch at his ear when he realised that he was back in his elven form. Fenris looked critically at the underside of his foot. The lyrium lines curled from the top of his foot, making a sinuous line that curled from the base of his toes to the heel. He didn’t like to look at them. His skin, his entire body, was a mutilation forced upon him by his former master. He wondered sometimes how anyone could look at him and not run, screaming.

He ducked his head, ashamed. Danarius had turned him from an elf, a man, into a weapon, had changed him into an animal. Anders…what must the man think of him. No wonder he was afraid whenever he looked at him. Fenris had been designed to induce fear. He put his foot back down, startling when it hit something soft. Something warm. Something that was…vibrating? Fenris peered down at the end of the bed.

Anders was looking at him, cat eyes a pale, luminous gold. His tail flicked lazily from side to side, brushing against Fenris’ legs with each swish. It was ridiculously fluffy – thick and full. Fenris wondered if it caused problems with fur-balls, and the thought surprised him so much that suddenly he was laughing, a full, deep-throated laugh that had him clutching as his stomach as tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. The cat did not approve, but he couldn’t stop. A set of sharp claws sank into the skin of his leg, remorseless, and still Fenris laughed.

\------

Anders tightened his paw, digging pin-prick claws into the elf’s leg, before standing and padding primly away, tail flicking with irritation. The elf had woken him up, and now he was laughing at him! Fenris laughing…It was only the second time Anders had seen it happen, and something in him wanted to crow with success. The cat part of him just wanted to sit somewhere and clean himself disdainfully – cats do not appreciate being laughed at. He leapt gracefully from the cot straight to the desktop, being careful to keep his tail away from the now-guttering candle. He’d only managed to set it on fire once, and it was not an experience that he cared to relive.

Fenris had stopped laughing, mostly, still wracked by the occasional chuckle. He watched as the cat began to primly clean itself, determinedly not looking at him. In his wolf form, Fenris often felt the urges of animal instinct, for wolves that meant possessiveness, an urge to protect what was theirs, and occasionally the need to howl at the moon. If he were part of a pack he would rub his side against the other pack members, if he were part of a pack they would hunt together, and he would have a place in the hierarcy. Like it or not, with his size, he would likely be an omega. He understood then, that Anders was just following his cat instincts now.

Fenris had long been fond of cats. Their unmistakable independence, the way that they suffered the touch of no one unless it was on their own terms. Their ability to get into and out of a surprising number of life-threatening situations. They were admirable creatures. Cats, no matter who they came home to, were always free. He had actually been jealous, at times, of the cats that he had occasionally seen at Danarius’ mansion.

He was glad to be back to normal, although concerned as to why the change had happened at all. He didn’t usually just turn back while he slept either. It was probably just due to his current weakness. Fenris stood, then raised his arms, stretching his full length. He felt a little stronger today than he had yesterday. Glancing down, he frowned at how skinny he had become. In the Deep Roads, he had simply been concerned with keeping the Healer going, he hadn’t realised how far he had let his own condition deteriorate. After going without for a while, hunger faded, taken over by weakness. He had never been allowed to become this weak before. Even after the ritual, when everything had been a trial of agony, Danarius had had him force fed when he was unable to feed himself.

Anders-as-cat was staring at him, and it was only then that Fenris realised that he was standing, stretched tall and defenceless in front of the mage – naked. He flushed, feeling the tips of his ears heat. It was nothing the mage hadn’t seen before, but somehow (and this was ridiculous, because Anders was currently a cat!), it felt more personal. He huffed, grabbing a thin blanket from the cot he had been laying on and wrapped it around himself, securing it on his hips. Turning back to the cat, he arched one dark eyebrow at it.

“Had your fill of staring, mage?” The cat ignored him, leapt from the desk and stalked off into the back room. Fenris could hear movement beginning outside the clinic, and decided it must be early morning. He moved around the room, lighting lamps as he went. Crouching in front of Anders’ small cooking pit, he coaxed the flames back to life, before setting the kettle on the tripod. By the time he was done, Anders-as-man was making his way over, yawning, his hair tousled.

Fenris stood, he would not remain on his knees while any mage was on their feet. “’Morning, Fenris. I see you made it back to your old self,” Anders smiled. He was in good spirits this morning. Sleeping in his cat form felt safe – if a Templar raid came, they would suspect nothing. Shape-shifting was a rare talent among mages. The cat was the only form that he could take, and the only reason that he could shift at all was that the Hero of Ferelden had shown him after he had learned from a witch of the Wilds. Of course, Marcus had been able to turn into a bear, which was much more useful in battle, but a cat was much more pleasant.

“Good morning, mage. Yes…I…that does not normally happen unless I will it. I am unsure why…I owe you my thanks once again for not chasing me out. I imagine it must have been unnerving to awake and find a wolf in your clinic.” Anders watched, as Fenris’ struggled to keep eye-contact. He had noticed before that the elf almost aggressively kept eye-contact except in situations where he was flustered, and then it became almost impossible for him. It made Anders’ heart ache. Slaves were not permitted eye-contact with their masters, and for the elf to be having trouble looking at him now hurt. He was nobody’s master.

“Fenris, its alright. I’m sure you were surprised when I changed into a cat, too,” he grinned as Fenris scowled and nodded at him. “I’ve never seen a wolf look so surprised before.”

“Yes…well…I have never seen anyone other than myself who can change like that. Is it something that all mages can do?”

“What? Oh, no,” Anders had turned away and was moving the steaming kettle away from the heat. He waved a hand in Fenris’ general direction. “The Hero of Ferelden taught me. It’s very rare. I can’t turn into anything else, you know. Cats are the only animal that I have any real affinity with, and once I had learned how to do that I was happy. It’s one way to get away when Templars come sniffing around.”

Fenris bristled at the mention of Templars. They dared come here and threaten his mage? He grabbed Anders by the shoulders without thinking, and spun him around. Focussed emerald eyes met wide amber eyes. “They will not take you, mage. If they wish to harm you they will have to go through me first!” Anders blinked, and then he was throwing his arms around the elf, and whispering into that long, tapered ear.

“Fenris, nobody has ever…that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard.” Fenris stiffened in his arms, and the mage let him go, fast as a startled cat. He backed away, apologies ready on his lips. Before he could get a word out though, Fenris had reached out for him again. He held still, as thin arms wrapped themselves around his waist, as a white head came to rest on his shoulder. Almost afraid to break the spell, Anders reached out cautiously, but there was no rebuttal. He raised a hand to stroke Fenris’ hair, and settled the other onto the elf’s bony hip. “Thank you, Fenris,” he whispered. There was no reply.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my writing, please feel free to bribe me for more by donating towards a cup of coffee! https://ko-fi.com/A20836M (also please feel free to request anything at my tumblr - shinyhill.tumblr.com!


End file.
